


A Lesson on Long Distance Seduction

by Ad_Astra



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Crack, M/M, Multi, unforgivable food analogies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atobe and Irie try different ways to subtly invite Tezuka to a threesome. Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson on Long Distance Seduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anehan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anehan/gifts).



> Written for the 2012 Tenipuri Cross-School Pairings Exchange.

It all begins one Sunday evening, in the heart of summer, when Atobe catches him watching the French Open semi-finals in HDTV.

With his hand down his pants.

"Um," Irie says, feeling his previously stalwart pants soldier rapidly deflating at the thunderstruck look on his boyfriend's face. "Oh dear, this is embarrassing."

Atobe looks at the wad of tissues beside the trash can and back to the rivulets of sweat meandering down the visible area of Tezuka Kunimitsu's chest, in high definition. Irie braces himself for the oncoming onslaught of furious indignation, as Atobe opens his mouth to speak. 

"You ungrateful son of a she-dog, how dare you resort to visual stimulation other than Ore-sama's glorious self?"

Was what he expected Atobe to say. What actually came out was,

"I approve."

Irie blinks and briefly wonders if he's slipped into some Bizzarro world where getting caught masturbating to your egotistic boyfriend's one true rival is commendable behavior, and experimentally gives himself a physical wake-up call.

Immediately, a thousand bolts of pain rip through him and he nearly bites his lip off to keep from shouting blasphemic curses at the ceiling. In retrospect he should've just pinched himself like everyone else instead of absently digging a nail in the slit of his cock, but at least it got the job done and that no, this isn't the Twilight zone, and yes, Atobe is still looking approvingly in his direction as opposed to eviscerating him with the force of an icy glare. 

"So," Irie says weakly, retracting his hand from his pants with as much dignity as a man caught fondling himself to a tennis match is allowed. "You're actually okay with this?"

"Okay? Why, this completely makes up for my atrocious day!" Atobe answers with uncharacteristic happiness. "In fact, I'd like to celebrate." 

Scratch that, he's definitely still in Bizarro world. "I think I'm missing something here," Irie says warily. He's long accepted the fact that he'd have to face a few idiosyncrasies here and there when he decided to dive headfirst into the mad, wonderful world of Atobe Keigo, but he's not sure he's ready for _this._ "You want to celebrate because you caught me jerking off to your rival's sweaty pecs?"

Atobe shakes his head, sighing. "Must you phrase it in such crass terms, Kanata? We're celebrating because we've finally agreed on common grounds."

"Common grounds," Irie repeats dumbly, his mind slowly piecing together this spectacularly illogical turn of events. "You mean Tezuka." A pause. "The guy you've always wanted to wipe the court with. The guy who you've proclaimed to be your eternal rival."

This time Atobe actually looks defensive. "Well. Yes."

"For how long?"

"Since senior year middle school."

Irie lets out a calming breath. "Okay." He pauses, then discovers that this doesn't disturb him in the slightest bit. "So about that celebration..."

Atobe immediately lights up. "Ah yes. Tell me Kanata, are you open to the idea of polyamory?"

*

The thing with Atobe is that he honestly believes that he’s been born with some sort of heavenly mandate that allows him to do and get whatever he wants, regardless of impossibility. If he sets his mind on something, there’s no changing it, not even with a cast-iron pan (not that anyone has tried, though the idea has been deliberated on at length and with great zeal by one Shishido Ryou). It’s one of the main reasons why Irie agreed to date him in the first place, material benefits notwithstanding. There's just something irresistible about a guy who'd say he'll move mountains for you and actually have the capacity to do it.

"See, there's this part where Tezuka actually has to be attracted to both of us for this to work out.”

Celebration entails dinner at an extremely posh French restaurant in the upper east end of Tokyo, and doubles as brainstorming battle plans for the Quest to Get into Tezuka Kunimitsu's Tennis Shorts. 

"I don't see why that's a problem," Atobe answers, taking a sip of his wine. Which, technically, he's not allowed to drink, but the heavenly mandate seems to include the unspoken benefit of not being subjected to trifle societal whims such as laws. "We're both intelligent, socially fluent, good looking men with superior tennis skills. Moreover, I'm an Atobe. My charisma is legendary."

Irie idly plays with his salad. "Well, I guess that would work," he muses. "He seems strangely attuned to Echizen's prickly egotistic personality, at any rate."

Atobe's wine glass pauses halfway to his mouth. "I fail to see how that is related to the matter at hand."

"Well, you and Echizen have a lot in common," Irie says, ignoring the sound of Atobe choking on his Merlot. "Stubborn, demanding, aggressive, egos the size of Jupiter, have the shared honor of defeating the great Tezuka Kunimitsu at one point of your lives." He stifles a laugh at the nauseated look on Atobe's face. "If Tezuka finds Echizen endearing, then you have a good chance too." 

Atobe glares sulkily at him. Case in point. "Just for that, I think I shall go re-evaluate our relationship."

Irie grins smugly. "But you don't deny it."

"Che." 

Irie laughs at the horror on Atobe's face as he realizes what he has done half a second too late. The laughter is smothered a couple of moments later though, because Atobe's giving Irie a look that threatens blue balls in Irie's immediate future if he foolishly pursues this line of thought. "So anyway, what's our gameplan?" he hedges, back to business. "Do we fly over there and personally invite him for a three-way German sausage special?"

"Tezuka is not a German sausage," Atobe declares a bit too loudly, if the sudden clattering of utensils from the old couple sitting a booth away from them is any indication. There must be a giveaway on Irie's face because Atobe hurriedly adds, "And no, I didn't mean it _that_ way. God. Stop being such a twelve-year old." 

"I didn't say anything," Irie protests, holding his hands up. "Besides, how would you know anyway? Unless that information is included in your comprehensive stalker package deal, in which case this whole shebang just jumped from mildly obsessive to downright deranged." 

Discovering that his boyfriend has been cataloging profiles of people he found worthy of his attention was a bit unsettling a first, especially since Tezuka has a drawer all to himself, but Irie has Tanegashima Shuuji to thank for realizing the value of blackmail as a combative resource. Finding out Tokugawa’s part-time job as a voice actor for a hardcore yaoi anime series had been his happy thought for an entire _month._

There's a small pause, and Atobe's expression shifts, like he's about to say something but his brain-to-mouth filter is having an indecisive moment. 

Irie's jaw drops. "Ohmygod. You _know._ "

"It's not my fault that Fuji is quite thorough and forthcoming with sensitive information," Atobe says defensively, suddenly very interested in their table's flower centerpiece. 

"And?”

“And what? 

"Tezuka's sausage!" Irie slams his hand on the table and the old couple at the nearby table hastily asks for the bill. "What kind is it?"

"Kanata, _please._ This is hardly suitable dinner conversation," Atobe scolds imperiously. His eyes gleam with unspoken challenge however. "Besides, wouldn't you want to find out for yourself?”

Irie hates to admit it but that's actually a pretty solid point. "Fine,” he acquiesces. “We're still in dire need of a gameplan though."

Atobe taps the side of his chin thoughtfully. "Tezuka's conservative and a bit of a pedant," he says. "So we'll be traditionalist about this and go slow."

*

_keigo_the_king: I sent Tezuka a large bouquet of fresh flowers yesterday. To congratulate him on his Roland Garros win._

_sexy_saxophone: What kind of flowers?_

_keigo_the_king: There are four kinds, the most prominent of which is Coriander._

_sexy_saxophone: That's taking it slow? You might as well have broken down his door and slapped him in the face with your cock._

"Kinky," Tanegashima whispers beside him, and Irie almost snaps his iPad in half. 

"What the fuck Shuuji, I told you to watch out for the Prof, not read my chats," he hisses, and accidentally sends a string of babble to Atobe. 

_sexy_saxophone: hfewodskjnsadjaslckcsdjkl_

_keigo_the_king: You're overreacting. And stop keymashing, it just makes you look pitiful. And I said ,_ mostly _coriander. I’m not so obtuse as to give him the impression that all we want is for him to quell the burning ache in our loins._

"This is much more interesting than the lesson," Shuuji says, unperturbed. "Oh and if Atobe-kun's loins are burning, you should tell him to get tested. I have the number to the local sexual health cli--”

"--Keigo doesn't have STDs. Go back to vandalizing the table," Irie snaps, before turning back to the chat window. 

_sexy_saxophone: Sorry, Shuuji was being a nosy git. What other flowers?_

_keigo_the_king: Daffodils, Hibiscus and Oxeye Daisies._

Irie looks up flower meanings on Wikipedia and almost swears out loud. 

_sexy_saxophone: ... Congratulations, you just sent him a **bouquet of mixed signals.**_

_keigo_the_king: Hardly. I was very straightforward. "You are person of rare and astounding beauty, and we really want to fuck your brains out but we respect you and promise to be patient.”_

_sexy_saxophone: ...._

It's times like these where Irie is grateful he didn't hail from Hyotei, which seems to be equipping its alumni with a homegrown variety of crazy upon graduation. 

" _I_ would appreciate an honest statement like that," Tanegashima pipes up again. "Do you know how many misunderstandings would be avoided if people stopped beating around the bush?" 

“Yeah,” Irie agrees miserably, not even bothering to tell Tanegashima off for his continued breach of privacy. “I know.”

*

"I don't believe this." Atobe stares at the thank you card as if it just said something nasty about his mother.

"Don't tell me- he freaked out and called us sexual deviants, right? I could have told you this would happen," Irie says forlornly. "If we're courting him, we probably shouldn't have opened up with a thinly-veiled message advocating our desire to screw him silly." 

"No no no, that's not the problem." Atobe shoves the card to his face. "Here, read it." 

_Dear Atobe,_

_Thank you for the bouquet. I must admit, the flower combination is quite unusual but it is eye-catchingly beautiful. I didn't recognize the Coriander at first but their leaves gave me an idea. In fact, they've arrived fresh enough that the leaves can still be used for cooking. I've already used it for some interesting Mexican dishes, to great effect._

_Regards,  
Tezuka _

It's an incredibly daunting task not to laugh his ass off in the face of that; luckily, Irie had taken several units of drama classes to help increase his resistance to inappropriate sadistic laughter.

"What is _wrong_ with that man?" Atobe bemoans. "I gave him flowers speaking of our desire to engage in filthy acts of debauchery, and he used them to season his taco."

"So, he's completely ignorant of flower meanings?" Irie asks with a telling note of hope in his voice, because it's better than the other possibility, which is that Tezuka understood very well, and he's merely feigning cluelessness because he's too polite (not to mention prudent, since Atobe takes to rejection as graciously as a brick to the head) to tell them to kindly fuck off.

"He likes hiking and fishing. Nature things. Flowers are part of nature. How can he not know flower meanings?"

"Well, he doesn't. Deal with it. Do you now see the merits of my German sausage plan?"

"The German sausage plan will not be taken well," Atobe retorts, with an air of regal hauteur. "It’s crass and devoid of any social graces whatsoever. We can't treat him like fast food; he's more like a nine-course meal. With steak. Medium rare Wagyuu rib-eye." Then he pauses. "Oh god, I can't believe I actually referred to Tezuka as a piece of meat. This is all your fault."

Irie pushes the mental image of Tezuka slathered in red wine gravy out of his brain. "Would you prefer something lighter then? Like he's the Nutella to my golden marmalade and your uh, specially cultivated sturgeon pate on the ciabatta of our future love?" Then he inwardly winces, because seriously, what has he done to the universe to make him come up with these terrible analogies?

"That combination doesn't even sound remotely appetizing," Atobe says, because of course, of all the trains of insipid thought, he's decided to ride this one. "We'd make for a nutritionally acceptable but supremely unpalatable sandwich." 

"Okay, point taken. Can we stop referring to ourselves as food now?”

“You started it.”

"Yes, so now I'm saying we stop before I lose all sense of shame.” Atobe just smirks and Irie holds back the impulse to bean him with a throw pillow. “Anyway,” Irie starts again. “The flower plan obviously didn't go as expected. I suggest a direct approach is necessary at this point in time.” 

Atobe shakes his head. "No, we don't know how Tezuka will react. Granted, it's highly possible that the time he spent in Germany may have mellowed him out, but I don't want to come out too strong.”

“The only way to find out is to do it, Keigo.”

“We can try asking someone with a similar temperament.,” Atobe suggests. “You're friends with Tokugawa-san right?" 

"Yes...” Irie says hesitantly. He's got a bad feeling about this. “But how exactly are Tezuka and Tokugawa similar?"

Atobe gives him one of those “Duh” looks before answering. “Well they're both quiet, reserved, competent in everything and anything, have a baffling affinity with Seigaku's brat, really amazing legs--"

"Okay, okay I get it--"

"I would've gone for him if Yukimura didn't snatch him up before I could."

"Wow. Gee thanks, I feel so loved now. What made you hook up with me instead? Was it my glasses? Tezuka also wears glasses- is that your thing?"

“Oh Kanata, you are cute when you're jealous. You know I love you for your mind. That and the fact that you look good in a skirt.”

“That was for a bet, which we agreed to never mention again.”

“You are pretty when you blush.”

“Shut up, and go back to telling me about your crazy plan.”

Atobe sits up straight. “As established, Tokugawa-san and Tezuka share similar temperaments, so we could probably derive some possibilities on how Tezuka will react to a direct approach.” 

"... On second thought, I'm not sure I want to hear the rest of this plan."

"Think of it as a form of research," Atobe says nonchalantly. "We're not going after the answer; we're going for the reaction, or the manner thereof.”

Irie has to pause for a few moments to allow his brain attempt to process all this. “Are you suggesting that I proposition Tokugawa Kazuya to a threesome?”

“Yes,” Atobe answers, in the tones of someone convinced that he is making perfect sense. “Of course, you can assure him that it's all hypothetical after you've gauged his reaction.”

Irie opens and closes his mouth a few times but there seems to be a temporary disconnection between his brain and his vocal chords. 

“Kanata? This would be an excellent time to polish your acting skills.”

And the hits keep on coming. How is this even possible? Atobe is an extremely intelligent person, so why does it not occur to him that this idea is anything less than five kinds of insane? 

Irie finally finds his voice. “Have you lost your mind? I can't just invite Tokugawa Kazuya to a threesome and then say 'haha, just kidding!' Do you have any idea how much damage that can make?”

Atobe looks genuinely confused. “How is it damaging if it's hypothetical?”

“Because there's-“ and here, Irie stops and abandons his argument about bro codes and 'don't-shit-where-you-eat' policies, because Atobe will never understand anyway, and switches tactics, ”... Yukimura.”

Atobe waves it off dismissively. “Please, I know Yukimura. He'll probably get a kick out of it. He so does love getting a rise out of Tokugawa-san.”

Irie's grasping at straws here. “In that case, why don't _you_ do it?”

“He's your friend, not mine,” Atobe answers, as if that justifies anything. 

Irie closes his eyes, cursing the perils of being the sane half of the relationship. "So what, I just walk up to him and say---"

*

"Keigo and I would like to sleep with you. Are you game?”

It's probably not the wisest idea to ask this of a person in the middle of doing a handstand, but Irie is a man on a mission. Besides, he has always had a penchant for dramatic reactions. Especially from non-dramatic people like Tokugawa Kazuya.

Tokugawa’s dramatic reaction is to tremble slightly and prematurely end his balance exercise by doing some hybrid yoga back flip thing that should be impossible for a guy his size, and sets himself upright. 

"I'm not in the mood, Irie-senpai."

"Well of course, I didn't mean _right now,_ " Irie plows on, cursing Atobe for making him do something so stupid and potentially suicidal. One would think Irie would be a pro at this, what with his preference for trickery as a method of disarming opponents, but this isn't tennis and Tokugawa can slug him across the room faster than one can say “Just kidding!” 

"Mind games.” Tokugawa doesn't look at him as he fishes out a bottle from his bag. “I'm not in the mood for mind games."

"What mind games, it's a simple question.” 

Tokugawa takes a measured gulp from his drink, and glances sideways at him. Irie almost flinches at the intensity of the scrutiny, and is once again reminded of who he's dealing with here. Tokugawa's intense stare can freeze people in their seats. Then there's the fact that he's with Yukimura, who can steal people's senses with his tennis. Irie thanks the universe for seeing it fit for the two of them to use those skills for a sport, rather than, say, entering an assassin's league.

“What are you really trying to do?"

"I believe it's called making an indecent proposal, Kazuya." 

Not for the very first time, Irie wonders if this is worth it, because honestly? He's doing this all for the sake of a man with a personality nature has decided to give a rock. And it's a very dense rock too, albeit an extremely hot and brilliant one, the kind that would not be out of place beneath Atobe's cuff links, or gracing Irie's fingers or-- STOP. He shakes his head and makes a split-second decision to throw dignity out the window, take off his glasses, and glance up at Tokugawa daringly from beneath his naturally long lashes, and hope to god Atobe was being completely honest when he said he found that pose brings out the _sexy._ “So. Will you?” he says softly.

For a moment Tokugawa actually looks uncomfortable, and Irie briefly wonders if Shuuji wasn't just being an asshole when he made that offhand comment about Irie and Tokugawa's unresolved sexual tension back at U-17 camp. Then Tokugawa turns away and mutters, “No. Sorry.”

Irie breathes out in sweet blessed relief. Not that he's been hoping for Tokugawa to say yes, but it's one of those things he's not going to think about unless he absolutely has to. “Okay, great. This is interesting, you're the first subject to turn us down.” 

“Subject?”

“To test my hypothesis!”

“Hypothe- you mean to tell me you came all the way here--” And here, Tokugawa does that scary thing where he looks into his opponent’s eyes and makes their souls attempt to go numb beneath their exoskeletons; luckily for Irie, he's been putting up with Atobe for three years so his soul comes pre-numbed, “--to _pretend_ to invite me to a threesome?”

"It's for research!" Irie promptly replies. "For my project on behavioral psychology."

His answer is met with furrowed brows, which is Tokugawa-speak for "I am not amused,” which means that he's two bad jokes away from launching into “fuck friendship” mode and sic Yukimura at him. 

"Verbal responses to sexual stimuli among the INTP profile in the Jungian Psychological Typology,” Irie says, hoping that the volley of technical jargon would sufficiently cover the overwhelming scent of bullshit he's spouting out. “ I would totally invite you to a focus group discussion but I know you're a busy man so I just went for an impromptu interview. Thank you for your cooperation; it has been most useful. I'll share the results when I'm done!”

Tokugawa opens his mouth to say something. 

Irie interjects with a very original, “Oh, look! Yukimura's here to see you!” while pointing at the other door at the opposite side. When Tokugawa turns back around, Irie is gone.

*

“Your place is as charming as ever."

Irie sighs tiredly at the look of condescension on Atobe's face as he surveys his surroundings. Alright, admittedly, Irie’s dorm room is not going to win any points on tidiness, but Atobe knows that he shares it with Tanageshima Shuuji, who seems to think that the floor is a serviceable substitute in the absence of a proper laundry hamper, so really, there's no reason to be a dick about it every single time. 

"Not all of us have the good fortune of having servants to pick up after ourselves."

"That does not excuse the fact that I can't even locate your floor." 

"I'm in the middle of midterms, okay. You're lucky I remember to do laundry. Just kick them out of the way.”

Atobe sniffs disdainfully, and gingerly steps foot on a t-shirt that has seen better days. “You should just move in  
with me. My penthouse is much more conducive to studying. And breathing. And living, in general.”

“I told you, I promised Shuuji I’d be his roommate until we graduate. I can't break that promise. Trust me, you don’t want to see Shuuji whine.”

“How do you even get any work done in this sty?”

“Are you going to keep insulting my living arrangements or are you going to help me study for my calculus exam?”

Atobe grudgingly settles himself on Irie’s bed, on the part that isn’t already covered in textbooks. Like most normal people, Irie is of the belief that math is a subject invented for sheer academic torment, and since Atobe is in the “Son You are the Only Heir to Our Family Fortune so If You Don’t Double Major in Business Administration and Engineering, I Will Disown You” category of students, Atobe often ends up helping him. 

The next hour is spent with Atobe patiently explaining the difference between the Riemann Integral and the Riemann-Stietjes integral while Irie half-listens, and curses the bastards they were named after. 

The moment Irie snaps his notebook shut, Atobe starts.

“So how did it go with Tokugawa-san?”

“Predictably, he immediately guessed that I was jerking his chain,” Irie answers, almost shuddering at the memory. “Though I think he somehow took me seriously after I made goo-goo eyes at him.” 

Atobe bristles. “So it's a matter of having Tezuka take us seriously,” he says, in a tone that suggests he's still in a quandary with the failure of his silent but meaningful message via flora. “Well, okay. I guess the flowers weren't clear enough for him.”

"He likes fish, not flowers,” Irie says, because unlike Keigo, he actually memorized that “personal likes and dislikes” section in the Tezuka Kunimitsu drawer. He doesn't want to think about what that says about him though. 

"Fish." There's a short, loaded pause, then Atobe's eyes widen in a way that triggers a set of instinctive “oh shit not again” signals deep within Irie's temporal lobe. "That's it!"

“What. What is it this time?”

"I'm sending him koi. It's short for lover.” Atobe's voice is filled with a manic sort of glee. “Yes, that's it. I'm a genius."

“Wow. This is just. Wow. Everyday, you say something that makes me die a little bit inside.”

Atobe has the temerity to look affronted. "What's that supposed to mean? And I don't see _you_ making your own courtship maneuvers. “

"That's because I actually advocate saying things with words as opposed to sending people expensive and impractical hidden messages."

Atobe ignores him and presses speed dial 2. “Kabaji,” he says, when the other line is picked up. “I need you to find the best transport service for three highly prized, decorative fish...”

*

_Dear Atobe,_

_Thank you for the koi. Unfortunately, I do not have a pond in my apartment. I've had them sent back to my house in Japan, much to my grandfather's delight. I assure you, they will be well taken care of. I’ll be sure to spend time with them when I come back to Japan this winter._

_Regards,  
Tezuka _

 

"Those poor jetlagged fish," Irie says mournfully. 

"Be quiet,” Atobe snaps moodily, lips pursed and arms folded in a manner that indicates he'll be throwing a tantrum of groundbreaking proportions if the status quo doesn't improve soon. Irie can't blame him. Well okay, technically he can, as this whole thing has been Atobe's idea in the first place. Atobe is just not used to not being good at anything. Admittedly, despite the random bouts of aristocratic lunacy he subjects himself to in the course of achieving his goals, he's always been successful. Except now. Tezuka has proven to be an exception to many things lately.

Overcome with a sudden rush of sympathy and affection, Irie lays a hand on Atobe's shoulder and smiles.

“My turn.”

*

_Dear Irie-san,_

_Thank you for giving me a sample of your lovely music. Indeed, I certainly heard and felt the passion you've poured into it, as you stated in your letter. In fact, the couple down the hall heard it and liked it so much they asked to borrow it for their night time workout routine. I hope you don't mind._

_Just in case you're interested, attached is a pamphlet for the Frankfurt University of Music and Performing Arts. With your talent, you could surely get a scholarship in case you want to pursue music professionally (or acting, Atobe mentioned you have a fondness for drama)._

_Regards,  
Tezuka_

*

“This is nuts. I nominate we skip the courting stage and go straight to the 'let's fly all the way there and get him drunk and hope he doesn't do the walk of shame in the morning' phase.”

“I refuse to stoop down to such plebeian methods of seduction.” 

“That plebeian method will result to at least some sort of progress.” 

“Progress substantiated by something as volatile as alcohol. It's one step forward and two steps back.” 

"Then maybe it's about time we resort to external help?”

“Someone like?”

“I don't know, you're the one in the same age group as him. We need someone who understands Tezuka on a fundamental level. Preferably one who is not above bribery.”

“... I don't want to go to Fuji again.”

“Look, I know Tezuka is a bit of an automaton but I'm certain he has more friends than Fuji.”

“Oishi Shouichiro cannot be bribed.”

“Anyone else? Someone also in the professional circuit. Oh hey- what about--”

“--No.”

“Oh come on. He can't be that bad.”

“You're not the one who had to school him for Tezuka when he was a twelve year old shrimp. Believe me. That boy is a menace.”

“He's sixteen now, and almost as tall as you; surely he's grown up and matured a little after all this time.”

“I assure you, he did not--or have you not seen the reports of him trying to avoid the press by insisting his name is Horio?”

“Do you want to get into Tezuka's pants or not?”

“Kanata, we're determined. Not desperate. I absolutely refuse to turn to—“

*

"—Echizen."

Atobe has never imagined that he would fall from grace so badly he'd have to resort to going to _Echizen Ryoma_ for help. Tezuka had better appreciate this, or heads will roll.

"Monkey King,” Echizen drawls, meeting Atobe's gaze disinterestedly as he absently pets his cat's back, looking like he's going for the world's best teenage delinquent evil overlord look. “You said you wanted a favor?”

Atobe briefly considers asking the driver to stop the car, kick Echizen out into the freeway, and forget about this whole harebrained scheme but Irie has his hand in a death grip and so he has no choice but to keep calm and carry the fuck on. "Would it kill you to learn some manners and call me by my proper name?"

Echizen smirks. “You respond either way.” 

Echizen is even more of a little shit four years later. What a surprise. With great difficulty, Atobe schools his features into feigned indifference. "I'll have you know, I'm only doing this because I have a deadline to meet and I have no other choice in the matter."

"Good to know I've driven 'Ore-sama' into desperation."

"I see you're still an insufferable brat."

"And you're still a self-absorbed prick."

"As intellectually stimulating this conversation is turning out to be," Irie interrupts, getting in between the two. "I'm afraid we don't have time.” They've only managed to catch Echizen before he could take a cab to the airport. Atobe practically manhandled him into the limousine while Irie cheerfully assured Echizen's parents that hahaha, that's not a sleeper choke hold ma'am, Keigo's greetings just tend to be this side of overboard when he hasn't seen someone for a long time, and yes sir, of course we'll take the cat with us, ta-ta, have a nice day! 

“What do you want?” Echizen asks, scowling. 

“Atobe Corp is planning to sponsor Tezuka Kunimitsu, but it's company policy to do background checks from the prospective party's close associates,” Irie says smoothly. “You're best suited for the job, as you've been under Tezuka's leadership, apart from being in the same professional circuit as him.” He then gives Echizen his best winning smile. “We'd appreciate it if you could answer just a few questions.” 

“You know, kidnapping me straight from the sidewalk in front of my parents is a really poor way of gaining my cooperation,” Echizen says, staring pointedly at Atobe, whose silk polo is wrinkled from wrestling Echizen into the limo backseat. Atobe ignores him, and just takes a sip from his Perrier. 

“We apologize for the extreme measures, but you're quite elusive, and we just didn't want to miss this chance,” Irie says apologetically. “I assure you, you'll be well-compensated for your time.”

“I'm not interested in money.” 

“How about a month's supply of Ponta then?” Irie asks, holding up a purchase order form with a cheque addressed to the Koka Kola company. Atobe is impressed. Irie thought about this very _thoroughly._

Echizen eyes the form with just the slightest bit of trepidation. “Wow. You’re really serious about bribing me.”

“Yes,” Atobe answers, with no hint of remorse.

Echizen folds his arms and leans back against the seat, looking speculatively between the sheet and Atobe. Then one corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile. “You have until we arrive at the airport,” he says, seemingly uncaring of the fact that he just agreed to sell out his former captain and mentor for _grape soda._ “And I want 3 months worth of Ponta. That's a pack per day.”

Atobe shudders at the amount of sugar and carcinogens Echizen apparently imbibes on a daily basis but it's not his problem if Echizen wants to give himself diabetes before he's twenty. “Done.” He takes the purchase order form from Irie, does the math and signs the check. 

The whole fake interview proceeds. Atobe lets Irie do the talking, but only because he doesn’t trust his lying skills when he’s pissed off, while Irie on the other hand, can lie persuasively about anything and everything, from world politics to how many vodka shots he really took, to the color of the sky. 

Finally, after several minutes of boring irrelevant bullshit, Irie finally enters warmer waters. “Now, for some informal data--is he currently seeing anyone?” 

Echizen snorts. “Do I look like I keep track of Buchou's social life?”

Irie smiles patiently. “Just tell me what you know.”

Echizen shrugs. “He's single, last time I saw him.”

“Okay. Do you think given the chance, he'd be open to dating or is he a career-first type of guy?”

Echizen narrows his eyes, which sends alarm bells ringing briefly in Atobe's head. “How is this information relevant to a sponsorship deal?”

“We've recently come upon your Inui's data book, “ Irie says without missing a beat, and Atobe breathes again. “And it had a section on the direct correlation of playing performance to a player's relationship status.”

Echizen makes a face. “Inui-senpai correlates everything to tennis. He once asked me and Buchou about what brand and type of underwear we use to factor in friction and chafing.”

“Fascinating. What became of that study?”

“It's a load of bull of course. Though Buchou switched to boxers for a week just to humor Inui-senpai, and went back to jock cut briefs after proving that there's no actual effect.”

Atobe clears his throat, filing away this juicy bit of information for future use. Irie gives him a Look, the kind that tells Atobe to behave, so he just reverts his attention to Karupin, who is presently leaving cat hairs all over Atobe's expensive leather upholstery. He glares at it but the insolent cat just meows at him and flips around for a belly rub, and Echizen obliges.

“So back to the question, Echizen-kun,” Irie says. “Do you think he's open to dating or will he put his career first?”

“Che. Buchou is buchou.”

“Meaning what?” 

“Meaning he's very... discreet.”

Irie raises his eyebrows at this. “Hmm, that's an interesting response, Echizen-kun,” he says, leaning forward and smiling almost conspiratorially. “Could it be that you're covering for him? Or perhaps--” Irie glances at Atobe briefly, before focusing his gaze back to Echizen. “... _You're_ the one he's being discreet with?”

To Atobe's surprise, Echizen actually laughs. “Me? With Buchou?” he says. “Hell no. I'm not into guys, Irie-san.”

At _that_ , Atobe has to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw from dropping. “You are so full of shit.”

Echizen smirks. “What part don't you believe? That I don't like Buchou that way or that I'm not gay?”

Atobe sees Irie stifling his own laugh behind his hand, the traitor. “Never mind,” he grits out. “The gay community thanks you for not being one of them.” 

“Like they're glad to have you and the blindingly frilly wardrobe you regularly inflict upon the world at large.” 

“Why you little--”

“--Atobe-sama," the driver interjects, "We've arrived at the airport.” 

“What? Already?”

Echizen places Karupin back in his carrier, and holds out his hand expectantly. Atobe glares at him with the force of a thousand supernovas and reluctantly hands over the purchase order form. Irie looks surprisingly placid, looking not at all distressed about the measly information they wrangled out of Echizen.

“Thanks for the ride Monkey King, Irie-san,” Echizen says, opening the door and stepping out. “Good luck with that thing with Buchou.”

Irie nods. “Thanks for cooperating, Echizen-kun. Have a safe trip.”

The door shuts. Atobe waits until the car is back in motion before rounding on his boyfriend. “Well I certainly hope you got more out of this than I did, Kanata,” he says darkly. “I hate bad investments.”

Irie smiles. “We found out a lot of things, actually. One, he's single. Two, we don't have to worry about Echizen as competition. Three, Tezuka's open to sexual liaisons and--.”

“Hold on,” Atobe interrupts. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“When I asked Echizen about Tezuka's openness towards dating, he answered that Tezuka is _discreet._ ” Irie’s eyes take on a strange gleam, as if savoring the answer. “That brings about an infinite array of possibilities.”

“But we don’t want possibilities," Atobe argues almost sulkily. "We want concrete _answers._ ”

Irie just smiles mysteriously at him “Oh ye of little faith, just trust me. Things are about to get much clearer very soon.”

Atobe is nonplussed and skeptical, as his careful scrutiny of the whole ordeal didn't net him any actionable insights, but admittedly, if there's anyone who can trump Atobe's insight, it's Irie. Plus he's the psych major. He knows what he's talking about. “Fine,” Atobe says, in a rare show of deference. “Now what?”

“Now,” Irie says. “We wait.”

*

The notes of Beethoven's Fifth jerks Atobe awake from his uneasy sleep. Groaning, he opens his eyes and looks at the digital clock. 06:17. The damned ringing persists, and he fumbles around for the source of the ominous tones, half-intending to smash it to smithereens for having the gall to disturb his slumber. He finally locates his iPhone, and squints at the unknown number. With a growl, he presses answer.

“Do you have any fucking idea what time it is? Inconvenience me once more and I will hunt you down like a dog in the street. Ass--.”

“Atobe.”

All traces of sleep flee at the all-too-familiar deep baritone voice, and Atobe bolts upright. “Tezuka?” 

“I apologize for ruining your sleep, as I forgot to factor in DST. If this is a bad time I could--”

“No, no. it's fine,” Atobe interrupts, mentally kicking himself, because it figures that the one time Tezuka decides to seek him out, he greets him with his best uncouth hooligan imitation. “Sorry for the outburst, that was most ungracious of me. To what do I owe the honor of this call?” 

“Well, I'll be succinct,” Tezuka says. “Echizen dropped by this afternoon and he told me some... interesting things.”

At those words, Atobe feels himself entering systemic failure, and as a preventive measure, he goes back to his primal instincts of self-preservation, which is deny, deny, _deny._

“Lies, all of them,” Atobe says with as much poise as he can, as he mentally catalogues the many ways he’s going to make Echizen Ryoma _bleed_. “I mean, what did he say exactly?”

“Well,” Tezuka starts, with a hint of hesitation. “I believe his exact words were: 'I think the Monkey King and that guy who plays drama tennis want to bone you.' “

_Echizen,_ Atobe thinks savagely, _is a dead man._ “And you believe him?” By some miracle, he manages to instill some dignity in his voice despite the fact that he's freaking out inside. 

“Well I must admit, it's an unusual thing to hear from Echizen.” Another pause. “So I considered all the gifts you sent me, looked up a few things and… pieced them together.”

_Well that settles it,_ Atobe thinks miserably. Goddamit. He hasn't even been awake for two minutes, and his day already _sucks._

Tezuka clears his throat when Atobe doesn't react. “Atobe, I'm not sure what to say...”

And here's the part Atobe doesn't want to face because Irie's carefully constructed plan backfired, Tezuka is going to reject them, Atobe's going to be a laughingstock among Seigaku, and he's going to have to hire a top-notch criminal lawyer for when he pushes Echizen off the highest floor of Tokyo tower. So rather than face it head on, he can only go back to his only defense: denial. 

“What are you talking about? I'm a very straightforward man, Tezuka; I assure you, any meanings you might derive from our gifts are purely coincidental.”

“But--” 

“But nothing. I assure you, all we mean is to show you our appreciation for the accomplishments you've done for our country.” _Shut up, Keigo,_ a voice in his head berates him, but he's too far gone to turn back now. “You do Japan proud.” 

“Oh.” Tezuka is quiet for a few moments. “I apologize for assuming then.” There's something in Tezuka's voice that seems off, but Atobe doesn't dare to classify it as disappointment. 

Despite himself, Atobe finds himself asking, “Why, were you hoping for something else?”

“....”

“Tezuka?” Atobe prods, his heart suddenly beating faster. There's this sickening feeling in his gut, the kind that happens when he's about to find out that he's made a terrible mistake, and that he should pedal back _right now,_ pride be damned.

“Well, Atobe. I--”

The line goes dead. 

“Fuck!” Atobe curses and frantically presses redial, only to hear a “caller cannot be reached” message in clipped German. He presses speed dial 1 and is met with Kanata's voicemail. 

Atobe wants to scream. He dials Echizen's number with an unnecessary viciousness and almost throws his phone against the wall when he's once again greeted by an “out of coverage area” message. That's it, the first thing he's going to do as head of Atobe Corp is appropriate half of Japan's telecommunications industry, and increase the efficiency of IDD services.

Letting loose a string of profanities even Akutsu Jin would be proud of, he dresses himself with the first clothes he could grab from his closet and runs out the door.

*

“Shuuji, is this your weed in my Cocoa Puff's cereal box?”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that, I was kinda drunk last night and shoved it in the first place I could think of. On that note, uh, don't look in your sock drawer.” 

Irie is about to do just that when a loud pounding on their door makes both occupants of the room jump. 

“Shit, the last surprise inspection was just a week ago!” Tanegashima hisses as he dives for his drawer and starts shoving various packets under a loose floorboard that Irie is discovering for the very first time.

There is a clicking on the knob, and Irie lunges for the door only to narrowly miss getting his face bashed in when it suddenly opens with a bang. In strides Atobe, wild-eyed, and looking out of breath as if he ran all the way to Irie’s dorm room. 

Irie stares at him, a feeling of dread quickly replacing the adrenaline in his veins, as Tanegashima collapses on his bed in relief. “Keigo? What's going on?”

“Pack a bag. We’re going to Germany.”

*

Murphy has apparently chosen today to take a massive cosmic dump on Atobe's life.

Irie was expectedly furious at Atobe's social faux pas and they pretty much spent the whole morning having one of the most heated arguments they've ever had in their three years and running relationship. (“Duh, of course I knew Echizen's going to tell Tezuka, what the hell do you think I made that set-up for!” “You didn't tell me that part; you just said we had to wait for the answer to come to us.” “Yeah, and it did, and what did you do?” “What was I supposed to do? I had no idea you'd put our faith in a jackass.” “That jackass just made Tezuka get the message we spent so much time and effort not to tell.” “Well I'm sorry I only wanted to ensure room for denial in case things don't work out.” “Well I'm sorry I trusted you to not _screw things up.”_ )

Atobe's pride, when clashing with Irie's self-righteous anger, is a terrible thing to behold, and so before things could spiral out of control, they opted to set aside their differences, focus on salvaging what they can, and give each other breathing space (or as much breathing space they can provide inside the same airplane cabin anyway). 

Then after that, there's the race to Germany, the suckiness and trauma of which definitely beats out that time Atobe lost the match and his hair to Echizen during the Junior High Nationals. 

First of all, they weren't able to leave Japan until 6 hours later, because Atobe's father had taken the private jet to Seoul for a board meeting and the landing was delayed due to air traffic congestion. When they finally boarded, they spent the twelve and a half hour flight with an air of tripwire tension, with Atobe sulking and Irie alternating between ignoring him and shooting him baleful looks. 

Then when they got to Munich, the limousine Atobe hired was reportedly sent to the wrong airport in an entirely different city, forcing Atobe to suffer the indignity of lining up for a rental car. By the time they got to the counter, there were no longer any limousines OR drivers available, although the company had several Mercedes SLKs, equipped with GPS for their convenience. Since Irie had no international driver's license, Atobe was forced to do the driving, and, being raised in Japan, it took him a while to get used to the left side drive. And as if that wasn't punishment enough, the GPS was in German, and Irie nearly destroyed the useless thing trying to switch it to English. 

By the time they finally manage to put an end to this wild goose chase and take the elevator to Tezuka's apartment, it's 7 PM, some twenty people just lost their jobs, and they're both cranky, hungry, jetlagged and running on fumes. 

“You ring the doorbell.”

“No, you.”

“Together then.”

“Fine.”

Simultaneously, they press the doorbell. No response. Atobe presses the doorbell again. After a full minute of waiting, Atobe presses his ear to the door for any signs of life. None. 

“Are you sure we got the right apartment?”

“I'm positive.” Atobe had made sure of this, because after wading through Murphy's shitcreek for the entire day, the alternative would result to painful, explosive violence and not of the accidental sort. 

“Maybe he's not home,” Irie says sadly. 

Atobe says nothing, but he's feeling furious at himself for not considering this possibility. What does he expect, it's a Saturday night in Munich. Tezuka's a sports celebrity now; it's not unthinkable for him to actually leave the house and have some sort of social life. 

Just as he is about to suggest cutting their losses and coming back tomorrow, the door suddenly swings open and they both come face to face with the person that has been figuring prominently in their fantasies for the past few weeks. A topless Tezuka, with a towel around his neck, beads of water running down his chest, and the crevices of his groin peeking out from his low-slung jeans, stares back at them, surprise in his eyes evident behind the oval frames. 

Atobe feels his mouth run dry and whatever cool he's been valiantly holding on to for this moment is gobsmacked out of him. For once, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“Atobe. Irie-san,” Tezuka greets cordially. “Apologies for my informality; you caught me right after a shower.”

Atobe is immediately aware that he hasn't had a bath since yesterday morning, and is seized with momentary panic. If Tezuka rejects them because of an ill-timed case of body odor, Atobe is going to kill himself, if he doesn't expire from mortification first. 

Irie's the first to snap out of the Tezuka zone. “No offense taken, Tezuka-san,” he says with a smile. “We just want to clear up a misunderstanding.” 

That seems to snap Atobe out of his stupor, the state of his pits forgotten as the whole blur of the past twenty-four hours comes rushing back to him. “That's right, Tezuka. Our call ended prematurely, and I couldn't seem to reach you via any other means.“ 

“Ah, I'm sorry about that. My phone battery has been fluctuating recently and I've yet to have it replaced.” Tezuka peers at them almost in appraisal. “So you flew all the way here to tell me this? I'm reachable through email, you know.”

Now that Tezuka's mentioned it, it seems like an overreaction to jump into a plane and cross oceans and time zones just because of a botched signal. Atobe suddenly feels foolish. 

Surprisingly, Irie shakes his head. “No. I think this farce has gone on long enough.”

“Kanata--”

“Keigo, it's about time we spoke face to face. I'm tired of misunderstandings.”

Tezuka nods. “Very well,” he says, stepping back and opening the door a little wider. “Please come inside.” 

They step into Tezuka's surprisingly spacious apartment, where Tezuka leads them to the living room before excusing himself to put on a shirt.

“So in the end,” Irie starts, opting to sit on one end of the leather couch . “It all boils down to the German sausage plan after all.”

“I wish you'd stop calling it that,” Atobe mutters, settling beside him. “Do I stink?”

Irie leans towards him and takes an experimental whiff. “No. Do I?”

Atobe does the same. “No.”

They hear the door swing open, and Tezuka steps out of his room, now dressed in a dark wifebeater and an unbuttoned grey polo, looking like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. Overreaction, what overreaction? Flying all the way here is now officially justified. 

Tezuka walks past them however. “I'll get some drinks,” he says, and disappears into the kitchen, only to emerge ten seconds later, clutching three bottles of König Ludwig. 

At this, Atobe can't help raising his eyebrows. Beside him, Irie looks positively delighted. 

“I've had food delivered in case you haven't eaten yet. And don't worry Atobe, the legal drinking age in Germany is sixteen,” Tezuka informs them almost reassuringly, because of course, Tezuka's primary concern about plying his guests with alcohol would be would whether or not they're breaking any laws. He sits down on the sofa across them, uncaps the bottles and hands one each to Irie and Atobe. 

“Oh, I've had this before,” Irie says conversationally, accepting his drink. “My friend Oni introduced me to this last year. It made the local beer at home taste like an alcoholic's breath cut with tonic water.”

Tezuka's lips quirk up at that, and Atobe suddenly feels simultaneous bouts of admiration and jealousy towards his boyfriend for making Tezuka smile so easily. “German beer is what made me reconsider my opinions about alcohol consumption,” Tezuka says. “Of course, I keep it at moderate levels, but it's nice to relax with a bottle or two at the end of the day.”

Atobe carefully digests this new information. Germany has changed Tezuka quite a bit over the past four years. He's pretty sure Tezuka wouldn't even dream about answering the door shirtless or welcoming guests with beer or including alcohol in his nightly rituals if he stayed in Japan. He fiddles with the bottle in his hand, wondering how he should go about this, and fights down a noise of horror when Tezuka takes a drink straight from the bottle. Beside him, Irie does the same. 

Not to be outdone, he raises the bottle to his lips with only the slightest hesitation, and tries not to think about things like distillery sanitation procedures and whether or not he should suck it up and ask Tezuka for a glass. When in Rome and all that. He doesn't even normally drink beer, preferring to get his alcohol fix with wine, but at this point, he's willing to guzzle hobo moonshine from a paper bag if it means Tezuka is going to give a shot at this threesome thing. 

The beer slides down his throat, smooth and wheaty, with only the tiniest hint of bitterness and Atobe is surprised to find that he actually likes it. 

“Good, huh?” Irie says, smiling in an oddly victorious manner, and Atobe suddenly realizes that they've both been waiting for his reaction.

“It is satisfactory,” Atobe admits, setting the bottle down, feeling the weight of the beer settling in his stomach. He eyes Tezuka speculatively as Tezuka takes another long swig. 

The sound of the bottle hitting wood nearly makes Atobe jump. “Now,” Tezuka says, all serious and business-like. “You were saying something about clearing things up?” 

Atobe takes a deep breath. This is it, the moment of truth. Irie looks at Atobe and Atobe nods reassuringly. _I'm not going to screw up this time._

“Yes,” Atobe starts. “As you know, we've sent you several gifts.”

Tezuka nods, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Yes.” 

“We thought it would be best to be... subtle about our intentions. I mean, we do not wish to er, _disrespect_ you in any way.” Atobe feels frustrated by the stilted, over-formality of his language. He can charm the socks off aristocrats, CEOs and high-ranking politicians without even trying; why the hell is he total crap at it with Tezuka? “When none of it seemed to work, we actually went to Echizen to try to find out more about you.” 

Irie is making a hand puppet motion with his hand, looking exasperated, and Atobe wants to glare back, but Tezuka's still looking expectantly at him.

“The thing is, we really --”

“It’s true, we want to sleep with you,” Irie blurts out. “That's what we’re trying to say.”

Tezuka blinks and Atobe summons an almost inhuman force of will to stop from launching himself to the other side of the couch to strangle his boyfriend. He knows he should say something to save face, something along the lines of “Nonsense, I'm merely of the opinion that you have a particularly alluring backside; besides which, it's Kanata over there who masturbates to your tennis matches, so he's the sexual deviant here, not I,” but the damage is done and the ball's in Tezuka's court now. 

Tezuka clears his throat, a slight flush staining the side of his neck. “I see Echizen wasn't exaggerating.” 

“We don’t just want to _bone_ you--we both believe in equal opportunities in bed,” Atobe protests defensively, and winces when both Tezuka and Irie look at him as if he's gone mental. “I mean, yes, that's what the flowers and koi and saxophone music was all about.” 

There's a long pause, as if Tezuka is carefully weighing out his next words. The tension is rolling off Atobe in waves, and he is grateful when Irie reaches out to squeeze his hand. 

Finally Tezuka speaks. "If that was your objective, you should have said so in the beginning. It would've saved you a lot trouble,” he says, with a hint of amusement. “And it would've saved me on shipping costs."

“Yes well, we wanted to take things... slow.” Atobe isn't aware that he's been staring at Tezuka's lips, until they close around the bottle's mouth in a way that makes Atobe irrationally jealous. God. He blames his reduced rational thought to stress and lack of sleep. 

“So, is that a yes?” Irie asks, being the impatient one for once. 

Tezuka finishes the rest of his drink in an unhurried manner, his Adam's apple moving almost lazily. It's driving Atobe a little nuts, because seriously, he's not sure how much more suspense he can take before he bursts. Finally, Tezuka brings the bottle down on the table, and when he lifts his head to look at both Atobe and Irie, there's a cloudy glaze in his eyes that has nothing to do with beer and has everything to do with the probability of getting laid tonight reaching 100%. Atobe's sure of it. His insight tells him so.

“It seems quite serendipitous that I've recently upgraded my bedroom with a king-sized bed.”

*

_This is nice,_ Atobe thinks lazily. Tezuka tastes like wheat beer and mint, and Irie's hands are still reliable radars for Atobe's hot spots. It's a veritable sign that he's been holding out for so long, because despite being jetlagged and awake for the past 24 hours, he is so fucking _hard,_ it's not even funny.

Speaking of hard-ons, he's having a difficult time getting Irie's out of its confines (why the hell is he wearing skinny jeans anyway) and shifts his position. Tezuka gives him space and leans over to kiss Irie, tangling a hand through his strawberry blonde hair. Atobe is pleased. Irie loves it when his hair is tugged. This is turning out to be a very promising night. 

The doorbell suddenly rings. 

“That better not be Echizen, Tezuka,” Atobe whispers, and Tezuka actually chuckles, a low thrumming rumble that sends a pool of heat straight to Atobe's groin. 

“No, that's probably the food,” Tezuka answers, disentangling himself from the two and heading out the door.

Atobe takes this opportunity to nibble on Irie's ear, while Irie makes quick work of unbuttoning Atobe's trousers. “Forgive me for screwing up the phone call earlier?”

Irie gasps when Atobe gives a sharp nip on his earlobe. “I'm about to have mindblowing sex with two hot men,” he says, tugging Atobe towards him. “Don't mention unsexy things.” Atobe laughs and kisses him.

Tezuka then returns with a paper bag smelling heavily of spiced meat. He smiles when Irie and Atobe take a moment to move away from each other. “I trust that you guys are fine with German sausages? “ 

Atobe and Irie look at each and grin. 

“Yeah,” Irie says. “That will do just fine.” 

~fin~


End file.
